When Regina and I moved into our dream Victorian home, we expected a warm, normal housewarming party—not a parade of neighbors wearing identical bright red gloves in the middle of summer. At first, we brushed it off as a quirky trend, but the way everyone avoided explaining them—and refused to take them off, even to eat—left us uneasy. By the time the last guest left, we were both unsettled.
The next morning, things escalated. Someone had slipped a note under our door: “Welcome to the neighborhood. Don’t forget your red gloves. You’ll need them soon.” Suddenly, small disturbances began—tools moving, strange symbols appearing around the house—and neighbors dropped cryptic hints. Mrs. Harper whispered that the gloves protected them from “the Hand of the Forgotten,” a restless spirit haunting the land. We tried to dismiss it, but when a red-gloved doll appeared on our porch, fear finally pushed us to demand answers.
So we gathered the neighbors and confronted them, ready for revelations about curses or spirits. Instead, the room exploded with laughter. Mrs. Harper wiped tears from her eyes as she explained it was all an elaborate prank—an initiation every new couple went through. The gloves, the notes, the strange signs… all part of a long-standing neighborhood joke to welcome newcomers.
A few weeks later, we got our revenge by planting fake bugs during a “thank you” dinner, sending our prank-loving neighbors jumping and shrieking. By the end of the night, everyone was laughing, and the tension had melted away. As Mrs. Harper told us we’d fit in perfectly, Regina leaned into me with a smile. We were finally home—red gloves and all.
